Beyond Borders
by Winter-Eyes
Summary: Vimes still needs that drink, but new events and old foes make the sleep even more unlikely. VV slash. SEQUEL to 'Cities Apart'
1. Prologue

A/N: Well, a new year, new start and a new story…finally 'Cities Apart' has a sequel! This one should be better than the first, as I can describe it as something with a plot, rather than an afterthought. I'm also writing ahead of myself, instead of chapter by chapter, so the updates should be more regular! However, due to how insanely time-consuming the 3rd year of university is, I'm going to update only once every 2 weeks, as that way there will be an update. Thank you to everyone for being so patient, and if there is anyone still out there who cares…I hope you enjoy it.

**Warning:**Well, if you read 'Cities Apart' you know what this is about. If you haven't, you won't understand what the hell is going on anyway!

**Disclaimer:**Nope, I still own absolutely nothing, only my ideas.

* * *

**Beyond Borders**

* * *

**Prologue **

Christine simpered over the rutted track, hugging close on the arm of her mysterious stranger.

'_This is all so exciting!'_ she thought, _'And daring! And he is so handsome!'_

The moonlight washed over them, giving their surroundings a romantic air. Obviously, this sort of thing doesn't come naturally to cabbages, but they were trying their best and were quite pleased with the result.

"Is there much further to go!?" asked Christine, with an affected breathlessness that almost disguised the exclamation mark. "Such late-night walks may leave me in delicate health for tomorrow's performance! I would hate to damage the voice that so won your heart!"

The man looked down at her, his eyes almost glowing in the shadows cast by his hat's broad brim. The side of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin, and he bent low so the breath of his response ghosted over her neck.

"Not long now my little song-bird," he replied, his voice a deep but pleasant growl. "I simply wish to remove you from the city so it cannot hear or disturb us. But if your legs grow weary…"

He bent and effortlessly swung her into his arms, nestling her head against his shoulder. She giggled artfully and snuggled closer, her mind afire with dreams and stories.

* * *

First had come roses. Not the strange dead stems the Ghost had left her, but lush living ones that flooded her room with a scent which almost overpowered that of the street outside. Then, the whispers of the chorus girls that the best box had been reserved for a month by an anonymous gentleman, but that he only used it to watch her perform. 

No-one seemed to know any more. Even when Christine wrote to Lady Ramkin, the woman she had met during the brief phase when her destiny had been to save abandoned dragons at the Sanctuary, all she found was that the man was no-one in Ankh-Morpork society. Finally… a small card, tucked into a bouquet of blood-red blossoms;

'_If the songbird will fly alone to the stage door after tonight's performance, she will find someone waiting to spread her wings.'_

Obviously news of her voice had captured the heart of some far-off prince, leaving him unable to rest until he had won her hand. It was perfect. Ever since she was little, Christine had know she only needed to dream her dream and follow her star, then everything would finally turn out right.

* * *

Christine didn't notice the shift from day-dreams to true sleep, but awakened instantly as her feet touched the ground. The soft inquiry froze on her lips as she turned, and saw the man she had fancied to love become a monster before her eyes. Her scream became a choked gurgle as sharp teeth found her throat, then all around them the soil bloomed crimson. 

They really were _very_ clever.


	2. Old Beginnings

A/N: Here is chapter one, so far sticking to my deadline (though only just). I have just realised, for those of you who aren't so keen on the slash, the first few chapters will be very slash light so you can read safely for now. I will, of course, warn people when this changes. Not much more to say, than I hope people are enjoying this so far, so on with the story:

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

The smell was a choking, metallic haze over the fields, even before the body became visible. Vimes turned slightly, concentrating on the stench of the city that still hulked at their backs. By his side, Angua kicked a cabbage out of the soil and they both relaxed somewhat at the twin smells of dry earth and distressed vegetable. Carrot coughed diplomatically and stepped up to both of them. Behind him a gang of watchmen, supervised by Cheery, moved carefully around a pathetic figure sprawled amid the rows.

"Sorry to send for you in the middle of the meeting sir, but…"

Vimes cut him off, looking past Carrot at the scene.

"Captain, if the situation was any different I would be thanking you. Angua told me a little on the way here, but you'd better start from the beginning."

"The farmer only found the body this morning sir, when he came to weed the fields."

Carrot indicated the small man standing off to the side, wearing the forlorn expression of somebody who's life had just become far more complicated than they would have liked.

"Only?" Vimes interjected, as Carrot turned back through the pages of his notebook.

"From the state of the body, Cheery thinks the girl was killed some time late last night sir, and it's clear that no-one else went near the scene till she was found. Few people come this far out from the road, so nothing has been disturbed. We also found no note with the body, so this isn't the work of the Assassin's Guild."

"Have we any idea who the girl was?"

Vimes kept his face carefully neutral as he said it, but his feet itched to be back in the city and on the trail. It had been so long since the Watch had found anything like this - the Guilds and the Shades swallowed evidence and guilt alike, however much he tried to stop them. But this one; taking her so far from the city meant someone was trying to hide, so Vimes would chase them, find them…and make them pay.

"Christine sir. A lead soprano from the Opera house."

"The skinny girl with…that voice?" Vimes asked, adding quickly, "Sybil took me with her…to keep her company."

He tried not to feel the twinge of embarrassment at the thought of himself sitting on those velvet seats, surrounded by people and cherubs that were equally overfed. Vimes vaguely remembered Christine as a thin white blur, with a voice that seemed to be permanently surprised by life in general, but couldn't think of anyone who would want her dead, apart from some composers who were long dead themselves.

"As soon as we identified her I sent Officer Privin back to her room to see what he could find, so he should be back soon," Carrot replied, shutting his notebook decisively as Igor shuffled obliquely up to them.

"Ith definitely as you thought thur. I thaw lots jutht like it back in Bonk, and the wounds are unmistakable."

Vimes had been aware of Angua's tense, inhuman control fraying since she had fetched him and now she exploded, almost snarling as she advanced on Carrot.

"I told you! I could smell them all over, they haven't even tried to hide their scent. and have you really looked at the blood, how it's been scattered and smeared all over? They were playing - it's a taunt, or a challenge, or both! Whatever they bloody meant, it's all a game to them."

Carrot stepped forward and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. She glared at him for an instant more, then her head dropped and she shook all over for a second before pulling herself together.

"Would anyone mind telling me what's going on any time soon Captain?" Vimes asked. "I seem to have been out of the room when the explanations were handed out."

"Well sir," began Carrot, "It's one of the reasons we needed you down here so urgently."

"Werewolves," Angua cut in, her voice straining with the effort of limiting her tone to the four of them. "It's my bloody family messing around again, or more like them, and Gods know what they're doing this time, and whether they know about you yet…and why the hell they chose this poor girl."

Vimes frowned and waved an arm towards the scene.

"So why do you need me so badly? They don't seem to have even tried being careful with this…and if any of them were related to Angua surely she could track them with her head in Nobby's vest."

"They certainly haven't been careful, but they have been clever," said Angua, grimacing. "Whoever it is, they're obviously toying with us. It's the only reason they would have been so…messy. But there are two distinct scent trails, one towards the city and one heading further out. No way to tell which is the right one to follow."

"A trap then," Vimes replied shortly. "Which suggests they know about my recent…changes. They know Angua will follow the trail back to Ankh-Morpork, as she has more experience following one scent with those other distractions. That means they want me away from the city for some reason, and we can't afford to be clever as if either of the trails are right then every minute we waste they get further from us."

"That sounds about ri- " Angua stopped, her head turning, a low growl building in her throat.

Vimes looked towards what had caught her eye and saw a petrified Privin, holding a large bunch of roses in front of him as if they were his sole defence. Angua stalked forward and snatched the blooms from his hand.

"Were these in her dressing room?" she snapped.

"Yes sir, with this card…and the doorman says he saw her waiting at the stage entrance when he came off shift, and he passed a man heading towards the Opera house as he left and - "

Angua turned on her heel and brandished the flowers towards Vimes.

"When my father ran the game, girls were never allowed to take part. He said it wasn't sporting. But when Wolf took over he did it another way. These roses are the only breed that will stand the cold in Uberwald so he would send select girls big bunches, woo them, pretend to fall in love. Then he would lead them into the woods…and make them run."

Neither Vimes nor Carrot wanted to make the obvious response, but Angua could read the look repeated on each face.

"He came back before," she said simply, gazing blankly towards the horizon.

Vimes left her to Carrot, and moved towards the still shivering watchman.

"Report to Corporal Littlebottom and tell her I said to take you and the rest of the squad over to the Opera house. Igor can handle the rest here and I need to know as much about her secret admirer as you can find. Take the farmer back to the watch house too, we need to go over exactly how he found her."

The boy nodded gratefully and made a hasty retreat, followed by Igor who moved straight to the body, tenderly neatening and cleaning Christine to make her final repose seem more natural. As the watchmen trooped away towards Ankh-Morpork, Vimes turned to Angua and Carrot.

"Do you really think it could have been him?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Angua shrugged free of Carrot's embrace. Her face was still drawn and haggard, but she had regained a measure of composure.

"I doubt even he could have come back from…what happened. Besides, I don't smell him anywhere. Wolf did always have those who admired his technique."

Vimes stood there awkwardly, not really knowing how to react to the pain written across her face. Family life was complicated enough when everyone was the same shape at the same time, and he had never been very good at that.

"We had better get started," he said finally, turning away and loosening the straps on his breastplate.

Behind him he heard diplomatic shuffling that he imagined was Carrot moving a little way off, coupled with the sound of Angua beginning her own preparations. As Vimes finished undressing, he briefly contemplated the absurdity of the Commander of the Watch, standing naked in a cabbage field about to track down a suspect in the form of a large black wolf.

'_At least it isn't a bloody terrier…' _he thought, feeling the morphic dislocation that resulted from what was still an unaccustomed change.

Vimes shook himself, his ears flicking as he adjusted to the difference in his senses. The blood scent was stronger than ever now, a coppery-crimson mist that wound around him like an unwelcome lover. He pushed it away with an effort of will, concentrating on the two other distinct colours that frolicked in thick treads around the body. Deep purple and green respectively, they shimmered with the unhealthy sheen of the Ankh on a summer's day, oozing over everything they touched.

At a sound from Angua, he turned back to see her scenting the ground while Carrot collected both their uniforms. Angua turned her head, pawing the collar she wore into a more comfortable position. She turned away from the body, following the green trail towards the city. Vimes dipped his head in farewell, then bent to his own task. The scent led deeper into the fields, further away from the city, and further Vimes followed, the more he suspected a trap. The trail ran straight, with no attempt to hide or confuse the pursuer. Even for a killer on the run this would be sloppy…for a werewolf it was unheard of.

The thunder of a summer storm boomed across the sky and Vimes quickened his pace. He was capable of tracking for a while in the rain, but the more it continued the thinner the scent got. The sight of woodland and the feeling of grass under his paws brought Vimes up short…surely he couldn't be that far from the city already? Then he remembered, this was that area of unfarmed land that some richer members of the city had insisted Vetinari create. They whittered on about this so-called 'Green belt' being vital for the conservation of wildlife in and around Ankh-Morpork, and Vetinari had finally allowed it due to there being nothing actually affected by the whole plan.

Vimes snorted inwardly. He remembered the last lot of people like them, concerned with the pollution in the Ankh itself. Of the five people that lined upon the bank of the river in their waterproofs and waders, only three had returned. Two of these were still shunned from society because of the smell, and the other refused to talk to anyone but his hat, which he claimed kept the flying crocodiles away.

He looked towards the trees, then back towards the city. This was further than he had hoped he would have to go, and the feeling that knowing about the trap beforehand was not enough to deal with it was growing stronger. Then, with impeccable timing, the weather made his mind up for him. The heavy, driving rain plastered Vimes' fur flat in seconds, causing him to crouch down and flatten his ears against the deluge. He had to go on now, or there would be absolutely no chance of tracking. Already the smoke was thinning and fragmenting with the wind and water, so Vimes trotted forward to the edge of the tree line.

Lightning forked across the sky; then behind him, suddenly, the howl went up.


	3. New Faces

A/N: Sorry for missing the deadline somewhat this week…oddly enough I had the chapter finished in plenty of time, but my computer decided the internet was not it's friend, so wouldn't let me upload anything. Still, I gave it a good talking to, so this is finally up. Thanks go to the reviewers, as always you help me stay on track.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Angua walked out of the alley, shaking her head with a frustrated sigh.

"It's no good," she muttered, dropping into step alongside Carrot. "Whichever one came back to the city didn't want me to follow any further…and he had help too. It's like trying to unwind a nest of snakes with your hands tied behind your back."

"Do you think they've left?" Carrot replied, his face thoughtful.

"I can't smell for certain, but I have a feeling the answer is no. They haven't done nearly enough yet."

The hot fury that had been driving Angua had mostly subsided, leaving in its place an empty numbness that filled her head and heart. She knew what Carrot's eventual question would be; it was the she had been constantly turning over in her mind, worrying at it like a tongue returning to a loose tooth. She had no idea what they were here for…or who _they _actually were for that matter. She couldn't smell anyone she recognised, even from the very extended pack, but who else would come so far for so little reason? The murder of one singer, even one from Ankh-Morpork, was hardly a reason to travel the great distance from Uberwald. There had to be more to their plans, even if she couldn't see it.

Thunder rumbled over the city, and Angua realised that the day had been growing darker for some time, in a way that couldn't just be the approaching dusk.

"The Commander will have trouble tracking if that storm breaks," Carrot said, in a slightly worried tone.

Angua looked up at the clouds, narrowing her eyes as a flicker of lightning snaked over the bruised sky.

"Summer storms may be heavy, but they pass quickly. I'm more concerned about him going too far from the city before dark. You know what will happen if he thinks he's getting close…he won't stop."

Carrot nodded and looked back towards the fields with a troubled frown. Angua bumped her shoulder against his, bringing his gaze back to her.

"You know he hates it when you worry about him. Remember, he may be new to the changes, but Vimes can always take care of himself."

* * *

Vetinari was reading over the never-ending pile of reports when he heard a small noise from outside the door, as if Drumknott had knocked over an inkwell. Most people would have put it down to a careless clerk if they had heard it at all, so would have been surprised when Vetinari raised an eyebrow and blew out the solitary candle that had been fighting the encroaching evening. His hand slid down the desk and pressed an area of wood that seemed identical to all the others until it slid inwards under his fingers. A hidden compartment opened near his other hand and he removed a slim blade, its blade narrow and its hilt bound intricately with wire. Then he stood, turning his gaze towards the door. 

In the outer room, Lokir dropped the clerk's body back in his chair. The thirst for blood was almost overwhelming, but the werewolf had been ordered to leave the man alive. Fenrin and Skuld had had all the fun; one actually killing the girl and the other laying the trap for Angua's bastard. All he and the others had done so far was to hide the trail and wait in this stinking city. Still, all he had to do was this one thing, then he would be left in charge of the Ankh-Morpork plan. Such an easy thing too, this one man who ruled his city from behind a desk while others did his fighting for him.

Lokir felt his face shift slightly as he opened the door a crack to peer in…longer teeth and yellow eyes to better frighten the man who must have no idea of what was coming. He froze when he saw the empty room, the curtains billowing away from the open window. He then smiled slyly, getting a better grip on the door handle.

'_Stupid,_" he thought, almost irritated that there would be no challenge. '_Oldest trick in the book._'

He burst into the room, spinning around to face the wall that would have been hidden by the opening door, where he knew the Patrician would be hiding. The growl in his throat ceased as he stared in puzzlement at the empty hiding place. He started to turn, but it was already too late. Lokir felt a cold, metallic point at his neck, then a silken voice spoke by his ear.

"Never ignore the straightforward option. Now, tell your friend to step into the doorway."

Lokir tried to shake his head, but the arm tightened around his neck and he suddenly found he couldn't even swallow away the dryness of his mouth.

"I came alone, there isn't…"

His strangled protests died on his lips as a slow handclap echoed in the small room. A large figure stepped into the doorway, darkly silhouetted against the light streaming from the clerk's office.

"Fenrin," Lokir whimpered in surprise. "You have to help me, he…"

"Shut up," Fenrin snapped, leaning one arm on the door frame in a strangely relaxed manner. "You know that blade won't kill you, and if he slits your throat at least I won't have to listen to your whining for a while."

"If you concentrate," Vetinari began, "You will realise that the handle is bound in sliver wire. The blade is also rubbed with garlic and kept in salt, but I imagine that is less important to you at the present time. With no cross-piece to hinder it, I will have no difficulty pushing it fully though your partner's neck…if the need arises."

"And why would that matter to me?" asked Fenrin, in the same deep growl that had led Christine to her death. "The runt is no friend of mine."

"But a pack-mate?" Vetinari replied in a even tone.

Fenrin bit back a snarl, the wood of the door frame splintering under clenching fingers that were more like claws. The next minute he was back in control, an amused glint in his eyes.

"And what of your own pack-mate?" he said in a dark tone, stalking a little closer. "You must know we want you alive, or you wouldn't still be here. Surely you would expect us to have some leverage to ensure your cooperation. How would the city feel to know of the relationship between their leader and their watchman, especially if the latter's tainted blood were to become common knowledge?"

There was an almost imperceptible hiss of indrawn air, only audible due to the werewolves' superior hearing, and Lokir felt the dagger dig slightly deeper into his neck.

"There will be ample time to find out how you found that out," Vetinari said calmly, his composure back in place. "But don't think you can use that against me. Neither of you would live to spread the information, and I have ways of silencing any others you have waiting in the city."

There was a pause, then Fenrin began to laugh, a soft chuckle that swelled like a rotting carcass.

"I'm impressed," he said finally. "She told me you were good, and I doubt she would be disappointed. No, I didn't think that treat would be nearly enough, so I took the time to arrange another little prelude to our meeting. One that would remove the dashing Commander Vimes from the city, and far from any assistance."

"The girl," Vetinari stated coldly. "But you may have underestimated him. Vimes can keep himself alive, even in the most dangerous situations, and he had faced your kind before."

"As a man , maybe."

Lokir finally spoke up, confidant that the encounter was coming back under their control. Fenrin scowled, then favoured him with a grudging nod.

"Exactly why we will not risk any of 'our kind' against him," he drawled. "It's quite shocking what a pack of normal wolves can do to a werewolf when the find him… and of course it doesn't matter which form he takes, they will always know the scent. It's a shame that no last-minute help will be given to him; unless you can think of something to offer us in return?"

No-one moved for a long moment, then Lokir dared to speak again, the arrogant smirk finally back on his face.

"He might be able to survive on his own, and we may always be lying. Can you gamble with his life?"

For a terrible instance he thought he had miscalculated as the arm holding him flexed, then the dagger fell to the floor with a thud that seemed louder than the storm outside. Lokir turned to see Vetinari step back, his face tight but still expressionless, his arms by his sides. Fenrin stepped forward, removing a black leather cosh from his pocket which he brought down on the back of Vetinari's skull, dropping him soundlessly to the floor. The older werewolf then rounded on Lokir, his lips writhed back from his teeth and the hair on the back of his neck bristling.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he growled. "You were warned not to underestimate him, yet I find you taken unawares and yipping for help like a new-born pup. How are we meant to leave you in charge here if I can't trust you with such a simple task?"

Lokir shrank back, his body poised between the urge to cower and the urge to spring. His fingers curled into fists and he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. The two males stalked around each other stiff-legged, until Fenrin shook himself and relaxed, moving in to rub his cheek against the other's hair.

"Perhaps I spoke too harshly brother," he said softly. "Skuld and I trust you with our lives, and I can see myself making the same error as you did. These weak men are so easy to play with, we forget not all wolves wear fur."

Lokir's face broke into a grin, happy that his older brother was no longer angry. Fenrin was not so bad, but if he had decided to tell Skuld what had happened she would have been far worse. He took a rough brown cloak off his shoulders and flung it over the prone body on the floor, then bent down.

"Come on then," he said over his shoulder, beckoning to Fenrin. "We need to get the both of you out before they close the city gates for the night."

No-one noticed the two men leaving the Patrician's palace with the carpet slug between them, or remarked on the single man who drove his carriage out of the gate before nightfall…accompanied by a pack of hunting dogs.


	4. Bring on the Storm

A/N: I am very sorry for the lateness of this chapter…I am embarrassingly aware that it is almost two weeks since the date it should have been updated. There is a reason however, though one that contains good news and bad. This took so long because it is a longer chapter…I didn't cut it off where I possibly could have done. Unfortunately, this was done to placate you as the next chapter may not be up for some time. I will be doing work experience for the next 4 weeks without computer access and although I will try to keep writing, I won't be able to post anything until the end of March. Sorry again…and thank you in advance if you stick with me!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

As the savage, undulating howl went up behind him Vimes whipped round, instinctively crouching low to the scrubby ground. In the brief afterglow of the lightning flash he caught a glimpse of them before they vanished into the dead ground between two of the more raised fields.

Vimes cursed, his lips writhing back from his teeth as he glanced around in a moment of indecision. He hadn't had time to separate the sodden-furred mass into individual bodies, but the size definitely indicated a full pack…and he didn't have time to wonder why the hell they would be so comparatively near to Ankh-Morpork. If they had just been tracking him by smell he might have had a chance to loose them and break for the city, but Vimes knew what the howl meant. It meant they had caught sight of him, and in a straight run over the flat fields they would outrun him, then surround and pull him down with ease. He took a last longing look towards the too distant lights, then turned and dove into the dark shadows under the trees.

* * *

Sybil sat at her writing desk, doing her level best not to do anything so unladylike as to worry at her lower lip. Seeing as her level best had a life-time of breeding behind it, the impulse didn't have a hope…but that didn't stop it attempting a valiant rearguard action. 

The reason for Sybil's anxiety was simple; for perhaps the first time in her adult life she had no idea what to write. As a regular patron of the Opera House she had felt obliged to write a letter of condolence on hearing of Christine's untimely death, but now she had come to putting pen to paper the actual words eluded her. Alluding to the girl's ability had been easy; Sybil had quickly embraced the idea that if you couldn't give praise you could be kind, and if you couldn't be kind you could be polite, but as to what to say about the whole situation…

She knew she should say that everything would be resolved, but she also knew that Sam had been called out of a council meeting to deal with the situation and that wouldn't happen with a normal murder, whatever _that _was. Sybil stared out of the window with a worried frown, another crumpled attempt at solace swept to one side. All the carefully constructed pleasantries had quite fallen out of her head, leaving her with nothing left but a terrible sense of foreboding.

* * *

Vimes' breath sawed harshly in his throat, his tongue lolling from his panting mouth as he ran headlong through the trees. He jumped a fallen log, one paw slipping on some wet twigs and almost tumbling him, but his forward momentum saved him and he barely slowed. The wood echoed with the sounds of pursuit, the trees catching and throwing back the sound until it sounded as though they were all around him, in front as well as behind…made worse by the muffling effect of the rain. Vimes knew this couldn't be the case, but the thought gave new energy to his aching body. 

He had been unable to lose them, and now only a fleeting head-start was keeping him alive in a chase he couldn't possibly win. His eyes flicked desperately around as he ran. Human intelligence was the only thing that could give him an edge now, clutching for control over a panicked wolf that wanted to either run until his legs failed, or turn and fight until sharp teeth found his throat. Vimes snarled, trying to get the still unfamiliar part of his mind to understand; he would fight, but in a place of his choosing where their weight of numbers couldn't tell. He remembered one of the few lessons Angua had been able to give him, in one of the rare evenings where neither of them would be missed.

_Angua trotted forward cautiously and sniffed around the base of a tree, then tilted her head to indicate that Vimes could stop acting as sentry and come closer._

"_It's fine, the scent is a week old at least. This pack won't be back any time soon."_

_They were further out that she had ever taken him before…they would have to run flat-out to make it back to Ankh-Morpork before dawn, but Angua had been definite about how important this was._

"_Remember the smell and the signs, and avoid them if at all possible," she said seriously, sitting to one side while Vimes cast around the marked ground. "Wolves don't take kindly to our kind, and even if they don't see you they may follow a werewolf track for days to make sure it leaves their territory. If they do track you down they'll hunt and kill you to protect themselves, so don't expect mercy or any other human traits."_

_Vimes looked up from the ground, coming over to stand beside her._

"_And if the worst should happen?" he asked, shifting his paws in the soil._

"_Don't try to run or fight them over open ground," she began, looking away towards the horizon. "They won't come at you one by one, or let you fight the leader to prove yourself; they'll surround you, ham-string you if they can, then rip you to pieces all together. Get to cover if you can…even if you don't have time to hide your trail, you may find somewhere to hold them off, where their numbers don't matter."_

Vimes turned suddenly to the left, following a slight smell that had snaked over him like a whisper of hope. As he ran closer he could see a deep, steep-sided ditch, the brackish trickle of water he had miraculously smelt in the sheeting rain oozing at its base. He ran along-side, opposite to the flow, weighing the risk in his mind. If this was one of the tributaries that fed Ankh then something must be damming its flow, something that might form enough of a barrier for him to make a stand. On the other hand, even if that was the case, if any of the wolves had managed to outflank him they could either block his escape or simply come at him from above. Another howl, closer this time, made up his mind for him. If he didn't find a place soon, he would have no energy left to face them…this was his only hope. Barely checking his speed, he half leapt, half slid down the slick bank. Suddenly his feet slipped from under him, and he rolled the rest of the way before splashing down into a shallow pool with a strangled yelp. He jumped up again in an instance, wincing at the pain in his side, before resuming his punishing run.

The going in the ditch was hard, and Vimes could feel himself slowing. The mud was deep, almost half-way up his legs in places, and he could hear the sounds of pursuit getting louder. Luckily, all the wolves seemed to have followed him into the stream-bed as he couldn't hear any noise from above him…perhaps none of them believed he would not soon be caught. Vimes dodged around a fallen tree that had half-slid down the bank, pushing through some close-packed branches, then stopped dead.

He had found the source of the blocked water. One whole side of the bank had collapsed in the sudden storm, bringing with it a strand of trees that had choked even this deep waterway. Some water still welled over the top and through cracks, but all it could do was turn the earth at the base of the dam to a churned mess of mud and leaves. The sides were high, steep and strewn with debris; no-one would be able to get at him from the back or sides. Vimes looked back the way he had come and showed his teeth in a terrible imitation of a smile. The trunk he had just run around narrowed the ditch even more, meaning they could only come round one or two at a time. By a mixture of thought and pure luck, he had found perhaps the only place that would even the score. Vimes sat on his haunches near the gap, panting as he tried to recover his breath, waiting for his pursuers to come into view.

* * *

The wolves ran as a pack, shoulder to shoulder down the narrow trench in the earth, tired, but determined. They had discovered the sickening trace in their territory as dawn signalled the end of the hunt, so fresh they knew the perversion would be close by. Indeed, they had caught glimpses of the furtive shape throughout the day as they gave chase, but somehow had been unable to close with it, even though the trail was pure and clear. 

When they reached the border of their territory, many had wished to turn back. The sun was high, and there were cubs to be cared for, the nurses waiting to be relieved. The alpha had overruled them though, supported by his mate. The wrongness had made an obvious challenge to the pack, one that must be met if the unit was to be defended. They followed on as the sky darkened, the air heavy and clogging to the senses, into unfamiliar fields heavy with human scent. Then the trail was gone, as if it had never been. The pack had never encountered such a thing, but then the thought was driven from their minds. Another insult had left a trail, and catching sight of the twisted form was too much for the frustrated wolves. As the rain poured over them they gave tongue, eager to rid one threat where the other had led.

Then, at the fore, the alpha halted, stopping the others and nipping the shoulder of one who looked to pass. The wolves began to mill anxiously, looking to the narrow gap left by the fallen tree, with the block behind. They could smell the twisted scent behind, but with such a narrow entrance the members would be vulnerable.

* * *

Vimes crouched behind the tree-trunk, muddy water saturating his fur. He had seen the pack stop, and now could hear the low murmur as they conferred amongst each other. He knew it was only matter of time before he would have to fight…after chasing him so far they would not turn back so easily. Sure enough, as he thought this, the sound of discussion stopped and he could hear the squelch of mud as someone approached the gap. 

A brown shape pushed cautiously through, but Vimes wasted no time letting it get its bearings. He left his hiding place, taking advantage of the surprise he would only be able to use once. Vimes ran in low to the ground, coming under the wolf's guard to fasten his teeth in its throat, ripping until a gout of bright blood spurted over his eyes and muzzle. The unfortunate wolf gave a rattling gasp and dropped to the mud, twitching spasmodically as its life pulsed away into the stagnant slop. Vimes backed off a pace, the taste horrible and wonderful in his mouth. His mind recoiled at the murder, even as the wolf in him exulted, revelling in the clean kill.

The moments hesitation cost him however, as the next minute he was bowled off his feet by a hard impact to his shoulder. He rolled over in the wet mud, twisting like a cat to keep the snapping jaws clear of his neck as he regained his feet. He faced the big female, mindful as they circled that he now had his back to the entrance to the small space. He chanced a quick glance behind him, where already another wolf was trying to pick its way past its fallen pack-mate.

Vimes realised he had to act fast, or he would be overrun. He charged the female stalking round him, driving into her shoulder with his chest so her feet slipped from under in the mire. He then rounded quickly on the other wolf, who had not yet negotiated the obstructed entrance. He ran towards it as if to go for the throat, but as he reached it he moved his head down and to the side, the other wolf's teeth sinking into his shoulder. Vimes closed his jaws over its forelimb, biting down hard until he felt the splintering of bone. The wolf let go of Vimes, howling with pain as he released the shattered limb. As Vimes hoped, it could not move forward, but neither could the other wolves push past it to come at his back.

He turned back, just in time to meet the female's rush. He braced himself, checking her even though his feet slid back slightly. They both reared up to meet each other, their chests touching, lips cut and bleeding as fang clashed with fang. When they broke off they resumed wary circling, her growl rising and falling over the pitiful whines of the other wolf who was trying in vain to push through the rest of the way and come to her aid.

"Go back!" Vimes snarled desperately at her. "I don't know what made you come this far, but I didn't invade your territory and I don't want this fight. I won't kill any more of you."

The female's face wrinkled, displaying her bloody mouth. Her eyes glittered with hate as glared at him, then without warning she dove in again, scoring bloody tracks down the side of his neck. Vimes tried to go on the defensive, avoiding her teeth as he backed towards the dam that blocked them in. She whined in furious frustration, trying again and again for the fatal grip she wanted. Over her shoulder he could see that the other wolf was nearly free of the gap, and although it was no longer a threat, moving would allow the other wolves to come boiling through. With a despairing snarl he pushed off the dam, using his greater body-weight to bear her to the ground. His jaws ripped down once, then he stood, her body dropping boneless to the ground.

Vimes turned slowly, advancing on the remaining wolf, his fur bristling and a dreadful expression on his face. He growled, forcing the other to take limping steps back until its back was at the branches once more. He then sat on his haunches and let it turn and force a painful path back to the rest of the pack. As soon as the other wolf was out of sight, Vimes let his head drop. His entire body ached, and the blood in his fur made it stiff and uncomfortable. That, coupled with the slight tremors that ran down his legs, told Vimes that if the wolves decided to attack again he would be in no shape to face them. He wasn't sure if he wanted to either. What he had done, and the savagery with which he had done it, sickened him to his stomach. It was the sort of thing he had always hoped he was not capable of, but the wolf within him had risen to the challenge with sickening ease. The looks of fear or hatred that the attackers had given him paraded in his mind, each garnering a new shudder.

Then, suddenly, the chorus of anger changed abruptly into one of fear. Vimes could hear whines and panicked snarls, coupled with the sounds of bodies splashing into the mud. There was a desperate howl and a snapping of branches, then the head and forelimbs of a mud-streaked wolf crashed through the gap in front of Vimes. Its fear-maddened eyes met his for a moment, then it thrashed and scrabbled as it was inexorably drawn back. Vimes moved warily to the hole it had left, but as he did so all sounds ceased, and he could see nothing beyond the tree's trunk. He was about to make his way through, against his better judgement, when a haughty voice from behind him pulled him up short.

"I have to admit I'm impressed. For a such a civilised man, you've really done rather well."

Vimes turned slowly, confidant that if whoever was behind him had intended to attack they would not have announced themselves before doing so. As he did so, a silhouetted figure left the trees at the edge of the trench and trotted forward to stand on the centre of the dam. The female werewolf stepped forward, the moonlight shining off her pure-white coat. She stared down at Vimes with an expression that was equal parts malice and amusement, and he knew she was no albino throwback as her eyes were a pitiless black.

"I almost wish we hadn't stepped in to help," she continued, the redness of her mouth even brighter contrasted with the pale coat. "But we had to be on the safe side. Your getting torn apart by ordinary wolves just doesn't feature in our plans…even if I had to waste all that effort bringing them here."

"Did you kill the girl as well, or are animals all you can handle?" Vimes asked harshly, baring his teeth.

"Shut up!" she snapped, and for a second Vimes caught the flash of pure madness in her eyes before she brought herself back under control. "If I were you I would worry less about the girl and more about those you left behind in the city. No matter what she says, I wouldn't bothered to save you if Lokir hadn't completed his task, though I expect Fenrin will have had to step in, as usual."

The last sentence was muttered more to herself than to him, but Vimes barely noticed over the crushing band which seemed to be gripping his chest.

"What have you done?" he said in a low voice, his ears forward as the fur on his neck bristled.

Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, then she bent her chest low to the ground and wagged her tail, like a dog inviting another to play.

"We've taken what is yours and now you have to chase us!" she said in a sing-song tone, the taunt obviously designed to anger him further. "What will the city do without its leader, and what will you do without yours?"

Awful realisation crept over Vimes and he reflexively turned to start the run back to the city that he knew was already too late. He had only begun to move however, when her voice snapped out like a whip, cutting through the reddened haze of his thoughts.

"You take one step and he is already dead."

Vimes checked, looking up at her with narrowing eyes.

"That's better," she continued, ignoring his expression. "Listening to me is the only chance you have…if you ignore my instructions in the slightest way, we won't even leave you a body to bury."

She began to pace back and forth on top of the dam, her dark eyes always fixed on his.

"You will go nowhere near Ankh-Morpork. If you even try to pass a message, those of us left in the city will know and he will suffer. Your task is to keep up with us. Fenrin is already a night's travel ahead of you, and once I join him we will not stop…it is easy to do when you realise that coaching-inn horses are made out of money rather than flesh, so don't entertain hopes of catching us before we reach our destination. You will _also _not have the luxury of stopping more than is absolutely necessary. Each evening we will send up a howl, one which you will reply to. If we feel you have fallen too far behind, we will leave you a piece of him for each mile you have to make up."

She stopped her pacing, then unexpectedly sat, pointing her nose at the sky and giving an undulating howl.

"I expect you trust him to escape?" she asked Vimes, when she had finished, taking his answering growl as confirmation. "He couldn't avoid his capture, could he? The vaunted Vetinari, taken at his desk like any frightened bureaucrat. I hope you will be more of a challenge, Mr. Vimes. Now, consider this a present, a little reminder of what you did to one of the best of us…with love from Skuld."

She padded over to a thick branch sticking up out of the top of the dam and took it carefully in her jaws. As she did so there was an ominous creaking, and extra trickles of water began pulsing from around the sides. Vimes flattened his ears back against his head, his eyes widening as he realised what she must be about to do. He crouched and sprang at side of the ditch, trying to gain a purchase in the unstable side, his claws slipping in the mud as he slid inexorably back. From the corner of his eye he saw Skuld looking down at him, then she heaved with all her strength, leaping to safety as the wall of wood dissolved under her.

The deluge of icy water swept over Vimes, plucking him from his precarious position and plunging him under. He fought against the current, his head breaking the churning flow long enough to snatch a hurried gasp of air, before a wave swamped him and pushed down again. He twisted in the grip of the water; unsure even which way was up until, by luck more than design, he surfaced near the middle of the now surging river. He began to swim, trying to angle towards the nearer bank, then a log struck him and Vimes was swept down into the cold and dark.


	5. Plots and Panic

**A/N**: Again this chapter is stupidly late. What with family problems and being in my final year of university, I've generally felt too drained to have any creativity at all. Still, I'm sorry to anyone who has been waiting for this, and I won't give up on the story even if the updates are not always regular. Thank you to all those who reviewed even in the hiatus…your encouragement gave me the spark to keep going.

**

* * *

Chapter 4**

* * *

Carrot scraped the razor methodically down his cheek, his face a solid mask of concentration. A faint line of worry creased between his eyebrows when he thought of Commander Vimes. It always concerned Carrot when the Commander was out alone; the man tended to take on more than her could handle at the best of times, and the crawling feeling between his shoulder blades warned Carrot that there was trouble brewing in the city. A faint noise from downstairs, the snick of a latch coming down, made Carrot pause as he reached for his threadbare towel. For an instance his hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, propped up next to the table, then he picked up the towel anyway and cleaned the remnants of the soap off his face. Buckling on the sword-belt and straightening his armour, he strode down the Watch house stairs to find the guardroom empty apart from an apologetic chairful of worried Sybil. She stood as he entered; her expression that of a woman who was upset but too well bred to show it.

"Oh Captain, I hope I didn't disturb you; letting myself in before the rest of the men even arrive."

She paused, her hands clasped in front of her, and took a deep breath.

"It's only…Sam didn't come home at all yesterday and his bed hasn't been slept in. I know that is hardly unusual, but nothing seems to have changed in the city. Sam usually causes more of a fuss when he's been out all night."

An almost imperceptible tightening around the mouth was the only sign of Carrot's unease. When the Commander hadn't been in the Watch house this morning Carrot had hoped he had gone straight home to rest, as unlikely as that was. He was about to reply when the front door burst open with such force it smacked into the wall behind, flying back to almost catch the person running in.

"Commander Vimes is needed at the Palace immediately," gasped the wild-eyed messenger, resting his hands on his knees as his chest heaved with the effort of breathing.

"I'm afraid the Commander is currently away on Watch business and cannot be reached," Carrot replied, his voice slipping smoothly into calm, reassuring tones.

"He can't be!" the man cried, standing up straight and staring frantically around; as if Vimes would climb sheepishly out of one of the lockers with his hands up. "He has to be here, he can't not be here!"

He looked down at his shoes, mumbling his earlier phrase as if it were a charm.

"Commander Vimes is needed at the Palace immediately. I have to bring him…it's urgent."

Carrot moved to place a hand on the messenger's shoulder. The man started and looked up at Carrot as if he had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. Carrot drew the man to one side, noticing as he did so that the room was beginning to fill with watchmen arriving for their shifts; who were definitely not paying any attention to what was happening.

"This is Captain Carrot, who is acting Commander whilst His Grace is away," Sybil said softly, drawing close to the dazed man's other side. "I'm sure he can be of help, whatever the nature of your problem."

The messenger looked at Carrot as if seeing him for the first time, then snapped out of his panicked trance.

"Captain, thank Gods," he said briskly, throwing out his chest and bringing his heels together smartly. "You must come with me to the palace immediately; everything will be explained once you arrive."

He moved to stand by the door, relief pouring off him in waves now he was no longer responsible for events. Carrot shot a concerned glance at Sybil but she only shook her head.

"You had better go Captain," she sighed with a ghost of a weary smile. "I imagine it's urgent."

Carrot nodded and turned to go, scanning the rows of suddenly bustling watchmen as he did so. Angua appeared at his elbow, her worried frown showing she had heard all that had been said.

"Angua, you had better join us. I doubt there is much more to find at the Opera House, and I might need you."

Carrot's arrival at the palace was a stone thrown into a pool of uneasy silence. Ripples of anxious whispers spread from his vicinity, growing and widening as he neared Vetinari's office. Angua stalked in his wake, watching the looks and gestures following Carrot's back as he strode down the corridors. The closer they got to their destination the more animated people became; some fearful, some with a strange, brittle hope.

The office itself was a scene of disarray, with books and papers flung into headless heaps with the occasional overturned chair. Angua stared in angry horror; not at the room but at the familiar green scent that hung thickly on the air. Drumknott sat rigidly upright behind his skewed desk, white-knuckled hands gripping the arms of his chair as one of the palace physicians finished tying a splint to his wrist. His eyes widened as Carrot entered the room, his lips thinning as he tersely waved the doctor from the room. When the three of them were alone, the secretary stood unsteadily and moved closer to the watchmen.

"Captain Carrot this is unexpected. I do not wish you to think that I doubt your considerable talents, but I had hoped my messenger would have been clearer. As you can see…," he said, breaking off to indicate his bandage-swathed head, "there has been something of a problem here, to put it mildly, and I thought the Commander might be best to handle it. We need to move quickly…I sealed the palace as quickly as I could, but I doubt it will be long before rumours make their way out onto the streets; if they have not already done so."

"Rumours of what?" asked Carrot, as beside him a horrible feeling of certainty began to creep over Angua. Drumknott gave him an appraising look before sighing and rubbing between his eyes tiredly.

"I suppose if I can't trust Vimes' chosen Watchmen the city is already lost. Last night someone broke into the palace and made their way up here. Now Vetinari is missing and has left none of the usual signs to indicate that he is about his own business. As you can see Captain, I really was hoping that Vimes might lend some of his own time to this case."

"The Commander left the city on the trail of a murderer yesterday," Angua broke in heavily, "And from what I smell in this room we have to think of him as missing as well. I can't tell what the game is this time, but one of them is being forced to run."

As they filled Drumknott in about the previous events, his face grew more and more pensive. Finally he sat forward, gingerly rubbing his fingers together as he thought.

"It seems to me," he said finally, "That whoever we are dealing with are intelligent enough to know how to make this city vulnerable. Without the Patrician and the Commander it will be easy for the Council to tear themselves apart and the resulting chaos can easily be take advantage of. We can trust that the two of them will be able to handle their situation, we might need extra help."

"What are you trying to suggest?" Angua asked suspiciously, noticing how the clerk's eyes flicked to Carrot and back nervously.

"Ankh-Morpork needs united leadership to avoid whatever trap is lying in wait. I think the Captain knows how this could be provided."

Angua followed his deliberate gaze to Carrot, her eyes widening in shock as the tall man began to nod slowly. As he opened his mouth to speak it seemed almost as if time was slowing, reality paused ready to flow one way or the other.

"Yes," Carrot replied decisively. "I would be honoured to take the Commander's place on the Council in his absence. Hopefully the two of us together will be able to make some difference."

Drumknott looked at Carrot appraisingly, then gave a slight quirk of his lips in what was almost an approving smile.

"Yes, that might be best. I will convene a Council meeting as soon as possible to confirm the rumours they will doubtless have heard. As the other members will have to leave enough time to seem importantly busy I suggest you use the delay to brief your men. We will need you all to be prepared if we are to weather this storm."

* * *

Vetinari awoke to his head rhythmically knocking against a wall that had obviously been padded more for artistic effect than actual comfort. He kept his body limp and his eyes closed, not even trying to swallow away the clicking dryness in his throat. He began to catalogue the information his senses had been forming an orderly queue to present. The rough burlap that chafed against his cheek had a sour, musty smell of old soil - a potato sack had been placed over his head. He could here the creaking of a leather harness and the rapid drumming of hooves; as well as the occasional snort of an exhausted horse and the crack of a whip. Filtering over all of this however, was the atmosphere of the coach…a stretched, glittering tension, like the space linking two dogs' eyes the moment before they spring. The smells of sweat, and old blood.

An impatient sigh that was half growl split the moment, followed by the sound of a large body changing position in a small space.

"Who gave those three control of this?" said someone with a disgruntled whine.

"You know who," replied a deeper voice, brittle with strained patience.

"But they aren't pack, they aren't even worthy to lick his muzzle!"

"And you are the one to decide that? They owe their allegiance to her; as do we all, she sent them to help us. Even the Baroness knows that."

"But now there are only two left, against all of us. There could be an accident…"

"Not one the Baroness would accept. All she cares is that they give us our revenge on the bitch's whelp who thinks himself a wolf."

At that moment the coach ground to a halt and the door Vetinari was slumped against was wrenched open. He allowed himself to tumble limply to the ground, but was snatched up again by a cruel grip that dug into his shoulder.

"You stupid mongrels," a female voice snarled. "Even a human could spot someone pretending to be unconscious if they were sitting less than a foot away!"

There was a snap of teeth, then yelps from the coach that swiftly receded. The grip on his shoulder loosened as Vetinari was pushed against the coach's step, which he negotiated with grace that was unaffected by his inability to see. The coach rocked as two more bodies entered, then an impatient rap on the roof started the horses moving once again.

"You are almost as bad Fenrin," the voice continued more softly, the sound getting louder as the speaker leaned towards Vetinari.

The hood was pulled away, and he found himself facing the occupants of the coach. A slight woman with a hard edge to her features sat back holding the sack. Her white hair almost seemed to glow, her pallor contrasting with the dark hair and eyes of the tall man folded into the seat next to her. Vetinari inclined his head in recognition of his captor, as composed as if this were a meeting of Guild leaders in the Palace.

"I am Skuld, and I apologise for the actions of my brother," the woman began. "He was meant to see you wake, but found the lure of the trail too much to pass up. Rest assured you will be guarded more closely now…we have been warned not to underestimate you."

She leant back with the casual arrogance of a predator, talking to her brother but keeping her eyes fixed on Vetinari.

"I met with our mongrel," she said, a cruel amusement animating her features, "And we'll soon see whether the blood bred true. It was such a shame that dam burst with him still in the river, I was enjoying our chat."

Skuld's eyes narrowed sullenly when she realised her words would not get a reaction. She nodded to Fenrin, who threw back his head and howled. The pack outside took up the chorus, swelling the sound until it filled the night with savagery. Skuld drew her lips back from her teeth, a mad light in her eyes.

"Now we wait. We get to have so much fun if he fails."


End file.
